


Stargazing

by allonsytastic



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 11:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11531142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsytastic/pseuds/allonsytastic





	Stargazing

There are very few instances in Clara's life, when the Doctor's sudden appearance isn't a welcome turn of events. This is one of them.

Lying in bed, covered in a multitude of thick blankets and surrounded by heaps of tissues and legions of empty mugs with various types of herbal tea, she really doesn't feel up to the excitement that accompanies her otherwise favourite Time Lord's presence. Gravity seems to have quadrupled overnight and - considering the massive headache she's been enduring for the past hours - her head seems to have followed suit. Each and every muscle in her body has been replaced by pain incarnate and - to add insult to injury - she's suffering from Schroedinger's nose, which is _both_ running _and_ clogged at the same time. To conclude: Clara feels like a prime scientific specimen of the flu.

_(Actually it's quite humbling to realize that - even if you save alien civilizations and planets on a daily basis - the flu still doesn't make an exception for you.)_

 

All that is left for Clara to do when the crescendo of the TARDIS' materialization groan announces the Doctor's impending arrival, is to bury her head beneath a conglomeration of decorative pillows, play dead and _(futilely)_ hope that he'll simply overlook her. _If an opossum can do it, so can_ she.

Thankfully, the Doctor doesn't materialize in her _bedroom_ anymore - a habit he'd broken only recently, after a near-disastrous incident _(the thought of which still makes Clara blush)_. Instead, from what she can make out, he seems to have once more parked the TARDIS in the bathroom. By now, the sound of him getting tangled in the shower curtain - inadvertently _rearranging (a.k.a. knocking over)_ all of her toiletries during the subsequent untangling process - has become a familiar tune. Altogether, he's not exactly inconspicuous, as he swashbuckes through her apartment and looks for her.

_"Clara?"_

 

_"Clara, what are you doing lying in bed in the middle of the day? Are you_ planking _? Did you pick up a new hobby? Should_  I  _be planking, too?"_

Clara tries to respond, but the state of her vocal chords does not permit more than an involuntary, pitiful croak - which seems to be answer enough for the Doctor. A distressed expression takes over his face, the extent of his concern underlined by the way his eyebrows seem to have lost all of their usual, _attack-y_ nature. Gathering all of her willpower, Clara manages to convince her _(temporarily failing)_ corporeal shell to produce a single sentence: _"I'm sorry, Doctor, but getting up just isn't an option today."_

It's quite ironic, actually, how _the Doctor_ suddenly seems entirely helpless, when _Clara_ is the one who has to lie down because any further expenditure of energy would be excessive in her current condition. Clueless and without any further options, he starts rummaging through his coat pockets, his eyes pensively fixed at a point somewhere in the distance. After a few moments, he seems to have found what he's been looking for, extracting an ancient, wrinkled and folded-up piece of paper from the deepest depths of his velvet coat. Like anything about the Time Lords, the paper unfolds to a size much larger than one would reasonably expect and he ends up with a poster the size of a billboard.

Clumsily climbing onto Clara's dresser, the Doctor proceeds to affix the paper to her ceiling with a stapler he's produced form god-knows-where _(Bearing in mind past experiences, Clara is starting to suspect that he carries a complete set of office supplies with him at all times.)_

 

It takes her a few moments to identify the image, but when she recognizes it, a small smile appears on her face. It's a map of the stars, a keepsake they'd picked up on a flea market on Tereleptos-5, where it had somehow ended up. Not that they'd need it with all of the TARDIS' technical abilities, but sometitmes it's just nice to have an actual, tangible map... _(Also, from time to time Clara likes to sit next to the console with a map in her hands, playfully critiquing the Doctor's navigational skills, reminiscent of a front-seat passenger on a road trip.)_

_"Don't have to get up to go stargazing"_ , the Doctor says, climbing back down from her commode with a whimsical smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

 

* * *

  

The first thing Clara glimpses upon waking up - blinking her surroundings into focus through heavy eyelids - is the Doctor's wild grey mane. The world around her is still clouded in a feverish haze, but the unmistakable shape of his slender frame lying next to her is a welcome sight.

Further inspection reveals that the tissues and empty mugs have been cleared away, replaced by a steaming bowl of what appears to be an _attempt_ at chicken soup. Judging from the exhausted Time Lord sleeping sprawled across the other half of the bed - and from the fact that there's still some stray celery stuck in his hair - he must have put quite some effort into its preparation.

Clara reaches out to gently remove the vagrant piece of vegetable without waking him, but just as she does, he turns in his sleep - mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like her name - and curls up to her with his hand draped possessively around her waist. Clara doesn't bother trying to suppress her smile, softly ruffling her sleepy Time Lord's hair and settling back into the cosiness of her pillow conglomerate with a contented sigh.

 

Turns out she was wrong. There _may_ be a few instances in Clara's life when the Doctor's sudden appearance isn't a welcome turn of events. But this is _definitely_ not one of them.

 


End file.
